The Village At The End Of The Earth
by Kiki Cabou
Summary: Jack gets some help when he really needs it, and then he nobly repays the favor.  The epilogue is here!  It's complete! :D
1. Snow

Hi! My name's Kiki. I normally write X-files Fanfiction, but I just ADORE Samurai Jack. This show rocks. So, to that end, I decided to write a story. What I'm going to try to do is mimic the bold, stark style of the show's art in my writing.  
  
Translation? "Hemmingway on acid." I'll be straight with you --- this might be good, and it might suck. You be the judge. Please R/R or send some feedback to kcabou@hotmail.com.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own jack.  
  
Category: Story/Adventure/Drama  
  
Summary: Jack gets help when he really needs it, and then nobly repays the favor.  
  
Rating: PG-13 for violence.  
  
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
THE VILLAGE AT THE END OF THE EARTH  
  
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
***  
  
Part One: "Snow."  
  
***  
  
White.  
  
Powder in his face. Freezing needle pricks against his squinting eyelids.  
  
Scratching wind. Biting cold.  
  
Head bent, Jack trudged through the blizzard. His gi sleeves met in the middle, and he hid his face like a prim geisha. He stumbled forward.  
  
He was nowhere. He'd been walking steadily for three days now. His feet were blue. He was lost and freezing, but too tired to admit to either condition.  
  
Finally, he stopped. His will was giving out. Spots were dancing before his eyes. He lowered his sleeves and let the wind whip him in the face.  
  
The sun was bright overhead. Dead trees, dark stains against the pale sky, surrounded him on either side. He was walking through a forest that time forgot. That life forgot. There was no sound around him except the rush of snow.  
  
His senses would have been on alert, had he not been so tired and hungry. The small food pouch on his hip was empty. He could feel the bones in his pelvis move under his skin when he walked, now. Hardly a good sign. His bread had run out that morning. The blizzard had robbed him of opportunities to forage.  
  
So Jack stopped to catch his breath and looked at the frozen earth beneath his sandals. He did not see the cluster of orange eyes peering out from between the dead trees.  
  
Whoosh!  
  
The first bandit swooped in, tackled him, and threw him to the ground. Jack tried to gather his wits, but it was too late. Another was already on him, and another, and another. They were large and ugly, feathered and screeching.  
  
Crows. Huge, vicious birds, the size of men. Orange eyes. Sharp beaks. And massive, nasty-looking wings, with the feathers sticking out in all directions.  
  
Jack's world of white exploded into green and red and blue as they hit him. Across the face. In the back. The side. The leg. Finally, one grabbed him by the neck, and demanded money from him.  
  
"I . . . I have none!" he choked out, and spat blood.  
  
"Balderdash!" shrieked the head crow. He dropped Jack and pointed at him. "Take!" he yelled at his minions. "Take what you will! The man is dead anyway!"  
  
And they took. Jack felt his gi snatched right off his back, his sandals ripped from his feet. One yank and his long tresses fell down into the snow. They'd taken his hair tie.  
  
But the glint of the sword scared them. They didn't touch it. They left his obi, and his underwear, and pawed through the pockets of his clothes. He lay in the snow and let the world swim.  
  
They poked holes in his garments with their beaks, trying to see if he had a coin purse. Minutes passed. They turned Jack's possessions inside out. They found nothing. And they grew angry.  
  
They released their frustration on Jack.  
  
One bird grabbed the helpless man and hefted him up. With an ear-piercing screech, he hurled Jack into the nearest tree. The warrior hit the trunk, then bounced off and landed on the ground. The others set upon him like lions upon a wildebeest.  
  
Feathers flew. Pale limbs danced. Loud, angry noise filled the wood.  
  
Finally, they threw Jack's tattered clothes over him and left, cawing and clucking over their misfortune of finding someone poorer than they. And they flew away.  
  
Jack lay in the snow under the bushes. He was barely breathing, bleeding from the attack.  
  
But one of his feet was sticking out in the road.  
  
"Nee me ah wa neh, neh, Oh me ah wa neh, neh," came a wobbly voice.  
  
A wild-looking woman, fat about the belly and wise about the face, came clomping through the snow. She wore gray rags and a huge shawl. Her dark hair was graying, long and bushy, and stuck out in all directions. The sun had kissed her one too many times. Her skin was the color of baked earth. Her brown eyes, set deeply in her wind-whipped face, shone like beetle backs. She walked with a limp and carried a basket of herbs.  
  
Around her neck she wore a simple necklace of shells. And a small pink bottle dangled between her sagging breasts.  
  
"Nee me ah wa neh, neh," she chanted, searching the path ahead with her eyes. Then she stopped, excited.  
  
"Ah ha," she said, in a rumbling alto, rubbing her hands together.  
  
She shuffled towards a clump of bushes and began plucking some dead twigs off. She added them to her basket. Then she looked at the ground further up ahead. Something pale and not plant was sticking out of a bush.  
  
She hurried to investigate, and peeked around the dead leaves.  
  
"Ay ya!" she screamed.  
  
She knelt with a grunt next to Jack, and considered what to do. Finally, the decision was made. She tore off her shawl and tied it to him like a cape. She looped his shredded gi through her waist sash. Put his sandals in her basket. Hooked the basket to her belt.  
  
She grunted and groaned and finally stood, with Jack draped over her like a hide. His head hung limply over her shoulder. The shawl protected his bare back. The woman leaned her face into the biting wind.  
  
And she began to walk back the way she'd come, carrying her burden. Chanting all the way.  
  
END PART ONE.  
  
Well, whaddaya think? Weird? Good? Both? Neither? Please R/R. 


	2. Sweet Milk and Firelight

I want to thank Samurai Kat, Ahmose Nefertari Smith, Pepper Raskell, and Some Weird Freaky Person for so kindly reviewing part one. Mr/s. Weird Freaky? I'll go you one better. I'll update NOW. Here 'tis: part two. :D  
  
***  
  
Part Two: "Sweet Milk and Firelight."  
  
***  
  
Warm air filled his lungs and he slowly opened his eyes. They were gummy from sleep. A thatched roof rose up high above him.  
  
And pain hit from every corner. So did fear. This was a strange place. He was unarmed. Moaning quietly, he shifted around, trying to get his bearings. Some blankets fell away.  
  
Blankets?  
  
His last memory was of cold snow, not a warm bed. He managed to raise his head a few inches. He lay on a clean mattress, raised a foot above an earth floor. Gray covers. Soft pillow. He let his head fall back and he grunted.  
  
Clomp, clomp, clomp.  
  
He looked to his left. The woman from the woods was coming to his side, blinking at him. He took her in, as much as his half-closed eyes would allow. She gently settled him back in position. The blankets floated up to his chin again. His panic was being replaced by curiosity.  
  
"Who . . . are you?" he croaked.  
  
"I am Uta," she said quietly, tucking him in. "And you are safe."  
  
She smiled. He trusted her. He nodded faintly and put himself in her hands. For a moment he was left alone, but she returned with a small bucket and a rag. She dipped the cloth in the bucket. His forehead was bathed with cool water and she gently began to clean the crust from his eyes.  
  
The water missed the healing scrapes and bruises on his cheek. It ran down his face and pooled near his chin. Some drops hit his collarbone. Others landed on his loose hair, or on the pillow. She wet the skin on his thick neck and blew on him, causing a cool breeze and few goosebumps. The cold was delicious.  
  
He looked at her, questioning.  
  
"You've been asleep for half a day. When I brought you here, you had a fever. Probably from your injuries. It's gone away, mostly. And you're thawed from the cold, now."  
  
Jack blinked. He was trying to lose himself in the cool wetness on his face and neck and ignore the rest of his body. She saw his jaw twitch.  
  
"Are you in pain?"  
  
The samurai had his pride. He refused to look at her. Uta snorted and rolled her twinkling eyes.  
  
"Men."  
  
She was up and back in a minute, holding a fat leather pouch shaped like a tear drop. It had a wooden cap. Clambering up on the mattress, she laid the pouch on Jack's chest. It slopped about, full of liquid. He was puzzled. Uta wiggled behind him for support and pushed him up so he was almost sitting. Exhausted, he rested his head against her sternum.  
  
"There we are," she said.  
  
She grabbed the bag, uncapped it, and held it to the warrior's mouth.  
  
"Drink."  
  
Jack hesitated.  
  
"Come on, don't be afraid. It will ease the pain, fill your belly, and make your scratchy throat go away. It's sweet milk."  
  
He took a sip. Coated his mouth with the warm liquid. It tasted like sugar and mint and was as thick as cream. Encouraged by the gnarled hand cupping his chin and the gentle squeezing of the bag, he took another mouthful. And then another. It became a rhythm.  
  
He closed his eyes, drank and drank and drank. The world fell away. Finally he stopped drinking and began to breathe deeply. He had a comfortable weight in his stomach, and a pair of firm arms around him. The pain was gone. He fell asleep.  
  
Uta did not see this. She felt it. Jack had grown heavy and boneless against her. She capped the bag and got her charge on his back again. The horn of 'sweet milk' was hung on the far wall in its proper place. It was a mix of goat's milk, honey, mint, analgesic herbs, and crushed poppies. A powerful narcotic.  
  
But there was work to do. Uta set her face, picked up another basket, and headed back to the bed. A small fire danced yellow and red in a metal grate behind her. And she uncovered Jack.  
  
She sighed for him.  
  
His face had been mostly spared from the attack. The rest of him was bruised and battered. She had striped his arms and legs white with cloth. There was one huge wrap around his chest. Most of her initial handiwork was holding, turning rust-colored and greenish and dry where scabs were forming underneath. His left ankle was broken. She'd set the bones. It was bandaged arch to calf, braced with a wooden splint, and supported by a small pillow.  
  
She took off the wrap from his left thigh. The wound there was deep, weeping driblets of red. Probably from a claw. With a grunt, she uncapped a small jar. She emptied some green, mashed herbs into her palm and spread them into the cut like jelly to bread. Then came a fresh cloth.  
  
She covered him with the blankets again from chin to toe, bunching the covers all around him. There was no sense in him getting cold again, or sick, on top of everything else. She plopped down on her cot and stared at the shadows on the wall. The firelight flickered on his sword, where she had propped it up.  
  
"When he is strong enough to speak, I will ask him who he is," Uta declared to the fire. "I must know who I have brought home."  
  
END PART TWO.  
  
More to come! 


	3. Little Mysteries

Note: Thanks for all the reviews, everybody. :-) Here's Part Three.  
  
***  
  
Part Three: "Little Mysteries."  
  
***  
  
Jack woke up again. For a moment, he just laid there and throbbed and breathed. He was alive, he reminded himself. The pain, even in his ankle, had receded to a dull ache. But he was one big tender spot.  
  
Beyond him was a closed wooden door. Shafts of sunlight were piercing through the tiny gaps between it and its mud-brick frame. He finally noted that the room where he lay was a perfect circle, with a small fire pit in the middle. An iron cage stuck out of the pit. It was shaped like the top half of an egg. Smoking coals were all that remained from a sometime flame.  
  
This room was well-worn. It smelled of earth and dried herbs and a life lived well and fully. It was comfortably crowded. Enough room to maneuver, yet enough room for all the baskets and barrels and tools all neatly lined up against the walls.  
  
Across the room, on another cot, sat Uta. She was bundling ragweed. Instinctively, she raised her head and blinked at Jack.  
  
"Good afternoon," she said. She put her work down and shuffled over to him.  
  
"Hello," he croaked. He cleared his throat.  
  
"How are you feeling?" she asked, and smiled.  
  
The samurai was a little perplexed by this question. In his limited experience, caring inquiries like these were simply not made to a man. He was in a quandary: too proud to say "Sore," too polite to say nothing, and too honest to lie.  
  
"Much better," he said finally.  
  
This was true. He was much better than almost dead. Pleased with himself for walking the line, he smiled at her.  
  
Uta was not convinced. She eyed him sharply, raised an eyebrow, and poked his chest.  
  
All his resolve left. He hissed in pain. Lumps formed in the blankets as he shielded his poor, slashed torso with one arm.  
  
She was slightly amused and shook her head at the floor. "There is an old adage that goes 'Good men are bad liars.' And you, sir, fit the bill!"  
  
"I was not lying," Jack said, affronted. "I do feel better. I simply do not appreciate being poked."  
  
Uta regarded him, saw through his ruse immediately, and smirked. But he looked better to her.  
  
"Well then," she said finally. "If you feel better, then you ought to sit up."  
  
Jack was happy to try. He got dizzy at first, but an hour later he was sitting up and sipping a thin gruel flavored with honey. The fire was burning cheerfully in its grate. Uta did not ask him his name. She only cajoled him to eat. Later, she bundled him up against the elements, took him outside, and helped him limp to a nearby tree.  
  
That night, they talked. The fire cast a golden glow, and the room was warm.  
  
She was stitching up some tears in his torn gi. He was lying on his side in bed, facing the fire. It flickered in front of her.  
  
"So," she said. "What is your name?"  
  
"Jack," he said. "I gave it before, did I not?"  
  
She shook her head. He blinked, amazed at her patience.  
  
"Forgive me, then. I did not mean to be rude."  
  
She stopped stitching. "You were not rude, my dear. You were unconscious. Hm. 'Jack.' Such a short name for such a tall man. You need a longer one."  
  
He smiled grimly and stared off. "I did have a longer one, once. It was in the language of my people. But they were taken from this earth long ago, and I have no reason to use it. So now I am just Jack."  
  
Uta straightened up. She found this answer evasive. Jack was being mysterious, in her eyes, and this made her nervous.  
  
"I see. Tell me, Jack. Humor a terrified old woman. Are you a bounty hunter? A thief? A murderer?"  
  
"No!" he said, alarmed. "Why would you think that?"  
  
"Because you carry such a formidable weapon."  
  
She pointed. His sword, leaning against the wall, winked light at them both.  
  
"I carry that for protection," he explained. "In my world I was a samurai. A warrior enlisted to protect others. I still try to do right, but in this strange world, everything is topsy turvy. I am running from the law."  
  
He yawned. His strength was ebbing.  
  
"Of course you are. Evil would make a fugitive of a saint. You can give me the details later, warrior," Uta said. "Now, you should sleep."  
  
He nodded with a vague smile and closed his eyes.  
  
Days passed. He and Uta talked about meaningless things, laughed, ate, and played curious card games near the fire. His usual vigor returned. With the exception of his ankle, he was nearly healed.  
  
Bundled up in his patched gi, leather snow boots, and an odd cloak made entirely of gray feathers, Jack began to limp around outside and help out. He never strayed far from the hut. An iron shovel became his instrument of purpose. He was forever keeping the snow away from the door. In his free time he tended the fire and bundled herbs.  
  
But one morning while he was shoveling, he saw something astonishing. It had not occurred to him that Uta lived near others --- no one had come to her home while he was there. And yet, not 600 paces away, was another hut. And another beyond that. In fact, Jack made out a whole colony of them. He blinked in wonder.  
  
So many little mysteries. Where he was. Who Uta was, really. For in fact, he knew her only as a kind woman. A kind woman living next to a silent village. He decided, if she asked questions, to tell her everything. He only hoped she would not be afraid of him, and reciprocate.  
  
He was not disappointed.  
  
That night, they were on opposite sides of the fire, as usual. Uta was sitting on her cot, knitting a gray muffler. Jack was lying in bed, on his side.  
  
"Where are you from, warrior?" she asked.  
  
Jack thought for a minute. "The past," he said. "I am from a time of peace and harmony, and relatively little evil. I am from a time before Aku."  
  
*SNAP*  
  
"DO NOT SAY THAT NAME."  
  
The fury and sadness in Uta's voice stunned the warrior. He stared. She was red about the face and had snapped one of her knitting needles in half. Her hands were trembling.  
  
"I'm sorry. I meant no offense."  
  
She licked her lips and tried to calm down. "I know," she said finally. "I just . . . Please, samurai. Forgive my anger. I --- I want to know more about you. For instance, how did you come to this place?"  
  
"Well," Jack said, "I am a wanderer. I travel alone. I am on a quest to defeat . . ." He stopped short, unsure if he should go on.  
  
"The Shogun of Sorrow?" Uta asked, her eyes wide.  
  
Jack nodded.  
  
"Ah! Now it all makes sense! I was blind, warrior. I saw, but I did not think. You are he! You are The Deliverer!"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I have heard tell of your exploits in lands far to the west. You roam the earth, helping wretched souls." Uta paused. She seemed to consider something. Shaking it off, she went on. "What happened to you in the forest? Who hurt you?"  
  
Jack sighed. "I was stupid in the forest. I went in unprepared. I hadn't eaten in a day, and I had no cloak. I was attacked by flying demons, but in a sense, I hurt myself."  
  
"Flying demons?"  
  
Jack described his assailants. Uta listened, then shook her head in disgust.  
  
"Iyerogaal's minions," she said. "I call them Ashari-o-rukulu. The Crow Men. They are ruthless bandits. They terrorize this land when their leader sleeps. But when he wakes, they all cower before him, lest he kill them, too."  
  
Jack stared at her, the picture of cluelessness.  
  
Uta smiled a little. "I can see I'll have to start at the beginning. Settle in, warrior. This could take all night."  
  
END PART THREE.  
  
More soon! :D I know it's been a bit long since my last post. *embarrassed grin* I will hopefully have Part Four up on Sunday. Hopefully. :D 


	4. Uta's Tale

***  
  
Part Four: "Uta's Tale."  
  
***  
  
Jack curled up under the blankets and peeked at Uta. She poured herself a cup of tea. Then she drew a handful of powder from a nearby barrel and tossed it on the fire. Smoke erupted in a plume and the flames turned pink. A white haze hung over the grate. Jack was fascinated.  
  
"Magic," he said, in wonder.  
  
"That's nothing," she said mysteriously. "But listen to an old woman --- you need to understand."  
  
Jack gave her his undivided attention, but his mouth hung open most of the time. For as Uta spoke, brightly colored images flickered in the haze above the fire. Whatever she was talking about, Jack saw it clearly in the white smoke.  
  
"I do not live alone," she began. "I'm sure you have seen the other houses. My poor hut stands at the edge of a town that I call O-mashen-gril- yah-weh-dega. But everyone who passes through here calls it 'the village at the end of the earth.' This place is so far from everything else, you see.  
  
We thought we would be safe here."  
  
"Safe?"  
  
"We do not wish to fight against the Dark Demon, samurai. In this village, we are mostly women. And broken women, at that. We have among us those who have lost parents. Husbands. Children. Everyone is alone together, here. We try to make our way quietly and survive with our pain."  
  
"And why are you here?"  
  
"Because I am a lost woman. But I am useful. I know a thing or two about helping people." She paused to lick her lips. "You see, long ago, in my own village, I was happy. Young. A high priestess in the faith of my people. I was taught to respect the earth and learn from it, and I have. I love this planet as I loved --- still love --- my husband and son.  
  
When the Demon came, his darkness festered everywhere. Our village was secluded, though. For many years, we were left alone. Until one day.  
  
Black smoke rolled through the hills, and a thousand blood-red warriors on horseback came to seize our village. The noise was terrible. Evil was upon us! I led the women and the young children to a hiding place in the hills. The men of our village went out to fight off the hideous army. My husband, my brave Aliok, led the charge. He was my other half, Jack.  
  
And my son. My beautiful son . . . His name was Rayen. He was my only child. He was fourteen. I begged him not to fight. Screamed at him to go hide with the women."  
  
A tear dripped down her cheek.  
  
"He went after my husband, crazy with nerve. He was carrying a pitchfork. A pitchfork, samurai! To fight an army! Can you imagine? When we women had come out of hiding, we arrived on the battlefield. Every defender of our village had been killed.  
  
I found my man and my boy. They were lying next to each other in the reeds, blood everywhere. The wind was moving their hair, and they were still and cold as stone.  
  
Every woman was in tears. The wailing . . . . . . That sound will never leave me.  
  
We couldn't stay. It was too dangerous. But word reached us, wretched as we were, of a refuge beyond the great mountains. We packed what we could and headed out. We were forty women, eight girls, and two infants. This spot called to us, and to two thousand others from places far and near. We all worked hard to erect a town.  
  
My once proud village was now a band of scraggly women. We all arrived in the dead of winter, hungry and cold and miserable. Most of the children had died en route --- the weather was just too much. Some of us were out of our heads with grief. Others were pregnant."  
  
Jack was stunned. It was a bit much to hear. "And you?" he asked.  
  
"I was just . . . numb. Going through the motions. Trying to keep everyone alive and moving forward. It was a very hard winter."  
  
She took a sip of her tea.  
  
"But we prevailed. Spring came, then summer. It was a time of immense life, here. I witnessed and midwifed many births. I helped farm and reap the harvests. We all filled our grain bins and our bellies, built strong houses, and danced at night under the stars. We elected an Ashi --- a leader. We raised ourselves up from nothing, samurai. And because everyone brought different skills and customs with them, we exchanged ideas and everybody grew."  
  
"As it should be," Jack commented.  
  
She grunted. "But my story has no happy ending, I'm afraid. We once had an ideal life here, samurai. But for years, now, Iyerogaal, a terrible ogre, has menaced our village. He is a powerful minion of the Shogun of Sorrow. The only thing that keeps him from ravaging our poor town is . . . a yearly sacrifice."  
  
Jack sat up at that.  
  
"What does he demand?"  
  
"A woman," she said simply. She barely registered Jack's shocked look. "Every year, one of us has to die. We have lost ten women so far. And tomorrow night at sunset, we will lose another."  
  
She looked sadly at the floor. Jack saw the defeat in her shoulders and grew angry.  
  
"That is unacceptable."  
  
Uta raised her head. The same anger shone in her eyes as when she broke the knitting needle.  
  
"Of course it is unacceptable!" she snapped. "But that is the price we pay to live here. Compared to some of the vile swamps we came from, this village is paradise! I hate the ogre. Everyone does. But what can we do? Randomly kill each other?  
  
We try to keep order, Jack. The sacrifice is done by lottery and interview. And death is quick and painless. It is the best we can do."  
  
"I suppose. This system pleases everyone, then?"  
  
"Theoretically. It is swift, at least. On the morning of the sacrifice, seven women are chosen at random from the town. They then report to the Ashi for questioning. Those with children are immediately ruled out. As the village healer, I am ruled out. And then the Ashi questions from there. The one selected is given time to say goodbye to whomever she will leave behind, and she is put to death at moonrise."  
  
Jack looked at her keenly. "You said this process 'theoretically' pleases all."  
  
Uta licked her lips. "You're sharp, samurai. I give you that. A system is only as good as the people who use it. And if it's one thing no one in this village can stand, it's difference.  
  
For instance, everyone is infatuated with myths about the Snow Maiden of the mountains. So, all the women put up their hair in an elegant style. They paint their faces white, their cheeks blue, and their lips purple.  
  
They look stupid.  
  
But beyond the superficial, there are certain expectations of women here. If you build a hut, you are to be friendly and socialize. If you are young and have no intention of leaving the village to come back with a husband, woe betide you. If you do not wish to have children, you might as well leave --- or die. And you must be receptive to men. I remember I 'won' the lottery two years ago and reported to the Ashi. During the questioning, one woman was asked what she really wanted in life.  
  
She hinted at wanting . . . another woman. She was put to death and given to Iyerogaal immediately. There was not even a wait for sunset."  
  
"I am sorry for her," Jack said, his eyes wide. "But you are safe, are you not?"  
  
"For now. But no matter what happens to me, my faith and my knowledge will survive. I am training a young woman in my ways, so she can be a great healer and priestess of the Earth. Her name is Sankra. She lost her parents in a war, and I love her as my own daughter. She is pure of heart, with a merry wit, and she is eager to learn from me."  
  
They were silent and listened to the fire crackling.  
  
"Why has she not come to your home?" Jack asked.  
  
"She has been wandering for a week, tying herself spiritually to the land. Then she will be able to harness its power more effectively. I expect her back tomorrow. This worked out well, I dare say --- she usually spends all her time with me. But heaven knows, she is a chatterbox, and very curious. You would have gotten no sleep for all her questions, warrior."  
  
Jack chuckled.  
  
"But I fear for her."  
  
"Why?" he asked.  
  
"Because soon she will reach the end of my knowledge. There will no longer be anything I can teach her. When I see that she knows more than I, I will gladly bow to her. She will be the new healer of O-mashen-gril-yah-weh- dega.  
  
And then, thanks in part to our glorious system, I will probably be dead within a year. She will be left all alone."  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"Because the Ashi dislikes me. And I despise her. She has great clout in this village, and she pulls the names for the lottery. I might even be chosen tomorrow."  
  
She sipped her tea calmly. He was about to protest, but she cut him off.  
  
"You must understand, Jack. I will expect the call at sunrise, because I have always refused to do what is asked of me. I do not socialize or act like a silly girl. I seek comfort in the earth and in Sankra, and I like you very much. But in the eyes of the other villagers, I am just a grumpy old woman who boils herbs and tends the sick. I do not paint my face, and I do not comb my hair."  
  
Jack's head was spinning. His heart was pounding wildly at the horrible possibilities. Rage was boiling up inside him. The thought of Uta in the jaws of a monster settled the matter. He would find out where this ogre lived.  
  
Then he would go and kill it, broken ankle or no.  
  
END PART FOUR.  
  
Part Five will be here next week! Stay tuned! :D 


	5. Sankra

Hi, folks! Thanks, as usual, for all the reviews. Here's part five. I'm posting this AND part six at once. Keep your eyes peeled for part seven --- it'll be here sometime next week. :]  
  
***  
  
Part Five: Sankra  
  
***  
  
The dawn came, foggy and quiet. Jack and Uta were having tea. There was a knock.  
  
"That will be Sankra," Uta said, putting down her cup. "She is back from her journey."  
  
Jack nodded. His face betrayed nothing, but he was looking forward to meeting her. He knew her teacher would be happy to see her after a week of separation.  
  
Uta unlatched the door and it banged open, flooding the room with mist. A short, slim woman stomped in and held out her arms. She wore torn clothes and a dust cloud followed her in.  
  
"Ho, Uta! I have returned!" she shouted joyfully. She was filthy, windblown, careworn, and LOUD.  
  
Uta's reaction was equally boisterous.  
  
"Ay ya!" the old woman yelled. "Thoughtless girl, tromping into my house all dusty and musty! Outside! Shoo! Get those clothes off! Clean the grit from your face! Wash the leaves from your hair! Why, you look like a wild animal!"  
  
Uta was a human tornado as she shoved a protesting Sankra out of the house. She chased after her with a bucket of water and some lye soap. A few minutes later, she returned, irritated, and closed the door. Jack raised an eyebrow at his hostess.  
  
"'Love her like your own daughter,' eh?" he teased.  
  
"I yell because I care," she snapped.  
  
Jack snorted in amusement. There was another knock.  
  
"Are you presentable?" Uta yelled out.  
  
There was a huge sigh outside. The accompanying eye roll was practically audible.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"All right, then. Come in."  
  
Sankra entered, calm and composed, in clean gray robes and leather sandals. Her happy face was round. Her smooth skin was the color of brown sugar from many days spent outside. Twin orbs of sparkling amber blinked at Jack. A river of Indian ink cascaded down her head and fell over her shoulders in loose waves. She scratched the tip of her little nose.  
  
"Hello," she said. "I apologize for earlier. I didn't know Uta had a guest." She gave him a keen glance. "And a *rare* guest. A man, and a stranger."  
  
"I am Jack. It is a pleasure to meet you."  
  
He stood up, off-balance. Sankra saw his ankle.  
  
"What --- What's this?" she asked, coming over and taking his elbow. "What happened to you? Oh, I'm so sorry, I never introduced myself. My name's Sankra, and I'm learning to heal people. Hey, maybe I could help you! I've practiced my healing techniques on squirrels lots of times. And squirrels are so cute! I had one once ---"  
  
Jack tried to speak a few times, but finally gave up. He couldn't get a word in edgewise.  
  
"Sankra!" Uta barked. "Enough!"  
  
Sankra shut her mouth, mid-word, with an audible click. She gave Jack an embarrassed smile. Jack smiled back kindly and sat down on his cot.  
  
"Jack was injured in the forest," Uta said. "He's been staying with me while you were on your walkabout --- but he can wait for a moment. Have you seen it?"  
  
All Sankra's bubbly energy left her in a rush. She turned very serious and respectful.  
  
"I have," she said. "I saw the face. It is a she. She is beautiful. Her image is imprinted on every leaf, shining in every drop of dew. Repeated ten million times in a single flower."  
  
"Ah, good. And did she speak to you?"  
  
"Yes," Sankra said, with quiet joy. "She said she knows me, and through me, others will know her ways."  
  
"As I had hoped!" Uta cried, clapping her hands. "You are the one!"  
  
She went over to Sankra, embraced her roughly, and kissed her forehead. The young woman's eyes were shining in delight.  
  
Uta turned to Jack in explanation. "The earth has accepted Sankra into her service. She is already a fine healer, but now that she has connected fully with the land, she will be able to learn more secrets. And one day, she will have pupils of her own."  
  
She looked back at Sankra and smiled. "Go ahead, child. Work the magic I have shown you."  
  
Sankra bowed respectfully and sat down next to Jack. "Put your foot in my lap," she said.  
  
Uta nodded at him. Supporting himself on his arms, he did as she asked, and watched her curiously. First, she removed the splint, then the bandages. His ankle was bruised and swollen, and very stiff. He suspected his foot didn't smell too great, either.  
  
Sankra didn't comment or wrinkle her nose. She just cradled his foot in her hands.  
  
"You'll have to lie back, Jack," she said.  
  
He sank down onto his elbows.  
  
"All the way."  
  
With a sigh, he let go completely and stretched out on his back. But he craned his neck a little to see what she was doing. In the dim light of the hut, a faint blue glow appeared around her hands. It grew bluer and brighter, until it was nearly white.  
  
For a bit, the warrior was more surprised than agonized. He felt the bones knitting. A jigsaw puzzle was coming together under his skin. The throbbing was incredible. A bit dizzy, he felt Sankra rise from the mattress, and listened to her conversation with Uta.  
  
"Have they made the announcement yet?" Uta asked.  
  
"No," said the young woman. "They're waiting until Ulele and Shoko return from their trading, which won't be for another hour. Then they'll call it."  
  
"In the square?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Then Jack craned his neck and looked. Sankra's hands had left his ankle red and enormously swollen.  
  
"Sankra?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, Jack."  
  
"I, um, I mean no disrespect, but my ankle looks like a grapefruit. What did you do?"  
  
Uta laughed.  
  
"I channeled your life force," Sankra said, ignoring the old woman. "I drew it away from other parts of you, and added my own power to make you heal yourself. The swelling should go down soon. In an hour, you will be running."  
  
"I will get some snow for it," Uta said, hurrying out. "Come, Sankra, help me gather it. And Jack --- Oh, heavens. You look like a ghost. Ay, girl, you never pay attention! How many times have I told you, 'watch the cheeks?' Look at him --- he's got no blood left in his face! Idiot! Jack, don't sit up. You'll faint."  
  
Jack was offended at this. The two women left. Alone, he snorted in annoyance.  
  
"Faint. Ha! *I* will not faint!" he declared, sitting up. "For I am a samur- --whoa." His eyes rolled up in his head and he fell back onto the mattress.  
  
END PART FIVE. 


	6. In the Town Square

***  
  
Part Six: In the Town Square  
  
***  
  
Uta and Sankra were outside, gathering snow in a metal bowl, and talking. Sankra had a million questions about Jack. Uta told her what she'd heard and seen: that he was honest, kind, brave, and intelligent. A man from the past, who was trying to save the future.  
  
Sankra's opinion wasn't nearly as philosophical.  
  
"He's handsome!" she said, grinning.  
  
Uta produced a very loud, melodramatic moan.  
  
Sankra laughed, and rubbed it in. "And dreamy and cute and dashing!"  
  
"Oh, no!" her teacher said, playing along. "She's in love! Why me?!"  
  
"Oh, and his name," Sankra said, in mock rapture. "'Jack!' So simple, and pure. How I love it. You can just drag it out. Jaaaaaaaack," she demonstrated, in a goofy sigh.  
  
"Ay ya, you're insane! Come. We have enough snow."  
  
Sankra nodded, picked up the bowl, and started for the door.  
  
"Oh and Sankra," Uta said, stopping her.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It is good to have you back."  
  
They shared a smile and went inside. And there they found Jack, unconscious. Sankra gasped. Uta just chuckled and shook her head.  
  
"He didn't believe me. Ten blue beads says this fool tried to sit up and fainted."  
  
"You're on!"  
  
Sankra lifted Jack's leg up, set the metal bowl down, and rested his foot in it. She piled up the snow all around the redness. Uta, meanwhile, was gently slapping him.  
  
"Unnh," he moaned, waking up and blinking.  
  
"You tried to sit up, didn't you?" Uta said sternly, her hands on her hips.  
  
Jack scowled and wouldn't look at her. But he glanced at Sankra, her open face full of concern, and softened.  
  
"Yes," he muttered.  
  
"Ha! I win!" She made a good-natured raspberry at Sankra, who rolled her eyes.  
  
Jack decided the time was ripe. "As soon as I can stand up, I wish to fight," he said.  
  
The women stared at him.  
  
"I want to deal with Iyerogaal, so that not one more woman has to die."  
  
"But Jack, Iyerogaal is enormous! He's over fifty feet tall and covered in the toughest armor in existence!" Sankra cried, coming over to sit near his shoulder. "You would be killed!"  
  
Their eyes met, and her hand was on his shoulder in an instant, as though it belonged there. And a funny thing happened. Jack felt that it *did* belong there. He couldn't say why, or how, but he felt touched by more than her fingers. It made him smile.  
  
"Don't worry about me," he said, reaching for her free hand. He intertwined his callused fingers with her smooth ones, barely aware of what he was doing. "We just have to tell the Ashi, so we can stop the sacrifice."  
  
Half an hour later, Uta and Sankra had Jack on his feet. And soon after, they breathlessly burst into the town square. But they were too late --- the crowd was gathered, and the lottery had started.  
  
The Ashi, a fearsome, fat woman in flowing robes of pink silk, sat on a wooden throne on a scaffold. Her face was painted white, her lips purple, and her cheeks blue. Her black hair was done up in an ornate bun, with gold pins holding it in place.  
  
"And now the results of the lottery," she called out in a booming alto. "Will the following women please step forward: Errol!"  
  
Errol was the town's chief bread baker. She had three children.  
  
"Izara!"  
  
Errol's apprentice.  
  
"Lenikka!"  
  
The designer and caretaker of the town's aqueducts.  
  
"Yena! Joinu! Kleigo!"  
  
The village's three most skilled mud-brick workers.  
  
Since these six women were all essential to the village, everyone was wondering who was going to be unlucky number seven.  
  
"And Kiki!"  
  
Someone cried out "No!" and the crowd began to babble. Jack was confused. He leaned into Uta.  
  
"Who is Kiki?" he hissed in her ear.  
  
"The village idiot," she hissed back. "She came here last year. She is talented --- does marvelous things with beads --- but she can barely form a sentence." She shook her head sadly. "Unessential, and damaged, besides. She is as good as dead."  
  
Uta pointed her out --- a skinny little creature with large, sad eyes, matted hair, and a twitch. Her left eyelid and shoulder drooped unnaturally. She was clutching a beautiful beaded purse and quivering in fear.  
  
Jack couldn't take it anymore.  
  
"WAIT!" he thundered.  
  
The sound of a man's voice surprised everyone. A sea of chalk-white faces spun around to face him. Even the Ashi looked up.  
  
"Who dares interrupt the ceremony?!" she boomed.  
  
"I do," he answered, stepping forward. "My name is Jack, and I insist that this sacrifice not take place. I am here to champion your village against Iyerogaal."  
  
The crowd got very excited at this. The Ashi arched her eyebrows.  
  
"And what do you want from us in return, 'Oh mighty warrior?'" the Ashi asked haughtily.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
This caused an even bigger uproar.  
  
"Nothing! Ha! Men always want *something,* my dear fellow. Name your price."  
  
"I have no price!" Jack replied, deeply insulted, over the yammering crowd.  
  
"Ashi, listen to him!" Uta yelled, coming to the warrior's side. "He is an honest man, and he wants to help us! He has been staying with me until he was ready to fight."  
  
"Lonely for a lover, are we, Uta?" the Ashi taunted.  
  
"Shut up, you cow!"  
  
"SILENCE! Your days are numbered, old woman! You anger me! If this warrior doesn't slay the ogre, you might find yourself the next sacrifice!"  
  
"I await that moment with joy!" Uta spat bitterly. "Death has to be better than living under YOU!" She whirled on her student. "Come, Sankra."  
  
She took the young woman's hand, and they walked away. Jack didn't know what to do.  
  
"Warrior!" the Ashi barked. "The battle will take place tonight, for that is when the ogre comes out, expecting the sacrifice. We will guide you as far as we can to the ogre's cave. Prepare yourself. You have until sunset."  
  
Jack bowed low, even as he cast a sharp look at the Ashi. Then he whipped around and hared off after Uta and Sankra.  
  
END PART SIX.  
  
I will try to have the next part up as soon as I can! 


	7. A Herd of Ghosts

Hi, people! Thanks for all the reviews. Here are parts seven and eight!  
  
***  
  
Part Seven: A Herd of Ghosts  
  
***  
  
A nervous energy filled Uta's house as sunset approached. Jack was still and calm while the old woman and the young one flitted about like moths, finishing chores. They gave him any advice they could think of, even if it didn't make sense, like "Wear clean underwear." Sankra offered Jack a chest plate of iron for the battle. He politely refused.  
  
Finally, both women were exhausted. Sankra bowed to Uta, smiled shyly at Jack, and left for her home. She wanted to tidy up before the whole village left for the cave. The fire flickered and crackled, filling the silence between Uta and Jack.  
  
"I wanted to ask you something," he said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"If you taught Sankra how to heal, then you must know it yourself, correct?"  
  
Uta got a sharp look on her face. "Yes," she said cautiously.  
  
"Then if you could heal me, why did you not when I first came?"  
  
There was no accusation in his tone. Uta scratched her head and sighed. She suddenly looked ancient.  
  
"Do you want the selfish answer, or the unselfish?"  
  
Jack thought for a bit. "Both."  
  
"All right. The unselfish answer is that you needed the rest. Had I repaired you quickly and told you of the ogre, you would have run off in an instant, half-cocked, without even a goodbye."  
  
"I would not be that ungrateful!" he protested.  
  
"Ungrateful, no. Bullheaded, yes."  
  
The whole fainting incident came back to him vividly. He changed the subject. "What is the selfish reason?"  
  
Uta shrugged. "I enjoy your company. I don't get many visitors, Jack. And between your proud stance and your courtesy . . ." She bit her lip. "It was like seeing my son again. And now you are going . . ."  
  
"I am not your son, Uta."  
  
His voice was gentle, but the comment stung. She glared at him, even as her face quivered.  
  
"I apologize. That was harsh. But I am going to fight, and I do not want you to worry for me," he finished, approaching her.  
  
She smiled sadly. A tear dripped down her face. "Too late," she murmured.  
  
They stood there for a moment, close, the firelight dancing on their faces. Another tear nestled itself in the wrinkles around her eyes and she couldn't look at him. He was bewildered.  
  
"If only you'd never come. If my name had been called for sacrifice," she said with a sniff, "I would have gladly gone. Try as I might, I cannot forget Aliok or Rayen. It is the curse of memory."  
  
"Uta ---"  
  
"Ah, Jack!" she cried, beginning to weep in earnest. "May you never know the nightmare of living with your body in the present and your mind in the past!"  
  
She fell forward and clung to him. He wrapped his arms around her. His pained smile was private, but his words were not.  
  
"Too late," he said.  
  
"I want to join my family!" she wailed. "I want to go home!"  
  
"You *are* home," Jack said, trying to comfort her. "You pledged yourself to this village and to Sankra. You still have much left to do. All your bravery is wasted if you give up now."  
  
"Brave? Bah! Look at me, a sniveling old woman!" She chuffed against his shoulder.  
  
"Do not dismiss me," he said gently. "Courage is relative. When one is in danger, it is action. When one is in misery, it is goodwill. And when one is in Hell, it is existence."  
  
His words seemed to calm her. The heaving sobs slowed. After a bit, the coughing stopped. Finally, she raised her tearstained face and began to pull away, wiping at her cheeks.  
  
"You are wiser than most, warrior. And you're right. Go. I will follow and cheer when you kill Iyerogaal."  
  
Jack smiled. Uta smiled back, then gently shooed him out of the house.  
  
The sun was setting, staining the sky pink and red, when Jack entered the town square. Every woman in the village was there, bundled up against the cold. Their robes swept the ground. They all blinked at him somberly, with their expressionless white faces. To Jack, it looked like a field of death masks. Sankra and Uta were there too, on the fringe, their tanned faces sticking out like specks of earth under melting snow. Their presence reminded him that this was real.  
  
The Ashi stood at the head and motioned Jack forward into the middle of the women. It was a silent, very fast procession. He kept pace as the women began to run. Since their robes covered their feet, they seemed to glide along the snowy ground. A herd of ghosts.  
  
Jack had wisely made two concessions to the cold. One was a cotton body suit that came to his elbows and knees. Uta had made it for him. He wore it under his gi. The other was a pair of split-toe cotton socks, to fit his sandals. He saw his breath as he ran and was grateful for both.  
  
The women raced on and on, past frozen streams and rock quarries, climbing high into the forested mountains. Finally, they stopped just shy of a large clearing. A powerful, bitter stench hung in the air. The women backed away into the trees, letting Jack have a look through the skeletal oaks and maples.  
  
Fifty feet beyond the tree line was the rocky mountainside, nearly black in the dwindling sunlight. In the middle, Jack made out a large, gaping spot. A cave entrance. He looked to his right. Uta and Sankra were side by side, holding hands. Uta stomped in the snow like a wild horse. Her nostrils steamed and her bushy hair wafted in the breeze. Sankra had fastened her black hair in a long braid. She blinked her big eyes fearfully at him and waved a little. He gave her a little grin.  
  
Show time.  
  
Jack drew his sword and burst through the trees.  
  
END PART SEVEN. 


	8. Eyes Open Eyes Closed

***  
  
Part Eight: Eyes Open Eyes Closed  
  
***  
  
The sun set. The moon began to rise, casting its ghostly light over the scene. A terrible, howling roar filled the air. And the earth began to shake. Jack stood his ground, eyes narrowed. Waiting.  
  
Iyerogaal emerged from the cave, causing a small earthquake with every footfall.  
  
He was as big as Sankra had said, twice as ugly, and covered in gleaming, iron armor. Thick spikes adorned his coat of mail. He sniffed the air with his round, bulbous nose. And as he swiveled around, Jack made out TWO pairs of eyes --- an open pair on his face that glittered in the moonlight, and a closed pair on the back of his fat head.  
  
Shining steel claws on each hand.  
  
Fearsome fangs.  
  
A death machine.  
  
Jack could feel the whole village quivering in fear behind him. He didn't blame them at all.  
  
"WHERE IS MY SACRIFICE?!" Iyerogaal roared. "WHERE IS MY FLESH?!"  
  
Jack took that as his cue.  
  
"There will be no sacrifice!" he shouted, stepping further into the clearing. "Not now, not ever!"  
  
Iyerogaal looked down and saw Jack. Instead of being frightened, he started to laugh.  
  
"Ha! Another puny warrior, who thinks he can bring me down! And this one's in a bathrobe, of all things! Village of the Broken, you are DOOMED! Ha ha ha!"  
  
He took a swipe at Jack, who leapt aside with ease and a scowl. Iyerogaal got annoyed and tried to catch Jack again with his claws. No luck. A third missed attempt earned Jack an ear-splitting roar. The battle was on.  
  
Iyerogaal was powerful and ferocious, but Jack "jumped good" and avoided the monster's swipes --- for the most part. One snicked his arm and drew blood. Another caught the top of his kimono and yanked it clear off, revealing the body suit. The samurai set his jaw and fought back with fury, leaping up and hacking off any spike on the monster's armor he could reach. But he was aiming for the eyes, trying to put one out with the tip of his bright sword.  
  
The women were just outside the clearing, peeking around trees to get a good look. And then they started to cheer. The acrobatics of the samurai, as he dealt with the ogre, held them spellbound. For the first time in many years, they had hope.  
  
Sankra had gone to another tree to get a better look. Uta stayed put and stared, open-mouthed, at the man she'd brought home. He was a fine sight with his katana. She couldn't help it.  
  
"That's my boy," she said, beaming with pride.  
  
She never knew what hit her. All she felt,  
  
Was a push.  
  
Somehow, in an eternal instant, she was tipping over and stumbling into the battle arena. When she regained her balance, she found herself right behind Iyerogaal. Fear engulfed her. She forgot how to breathe, how to move.  
  
And the hideous, yellow eyes in the back of his head snapped open, catching her right in their sights.  
  
Uta gasped as the monster growled and swiped once behind him, his huge claws coming straight for her.  
  
He had only one shot, though. Jack was keeping him occupied. Their battle had become a wicked, wild, clanging dance of iron and claws and steel. And in the end . . .  
  
"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"  
  
Steel won.  
  
Jack launched himself into the air, readied his weapon, and with a *shwick* he sliced across the monster's thick neck, slitting the rock-gray throat from ear to ear. Iyerogaal's blood flew in a yellow, sloppy spray. He crumpled to the ground.  
  
Jack dropped to earth, panting. He could see his breath. He was covered in yellow blood, and his arm was stinging. He was exhausted. But he'd won. The village at the end of the earth had nothing to fear anymore.  
  
The women watching were ecstatic, jumping up and down and embracing each other. They approached the clearing in a mass. Then they went eerily silent.  
  
Jack was confused. He sheathed his weapon, threw the top of his kimono around him like a shawl, and looked to his right.  
  
"No," he murmured.  
  
He ran through invisible molasses to Uta. She was lying in the snow, a great red mess pouring from her belly where Iyerogaal's claw had split her open. She was spitting blood, wheezing for breath.  
  
Stunned, Jack sank to his knees next to her and held up her gray head. There was nothing else he could do. She was talking. He leaned close to hear her.  
  
"Ay ya, sweet, where have you been? I was worried. Your supper is getting cold," she murmured, then stroked Jack's face. She looked squarely into his dark eyes.  
  
"I love you," she whispered.  
  
People, when they die, don't often make much sense. Uta's eyelids fluttered closed and she went limp. And Jack would never know if her last words were addressed to her husband, her son, her student, or him.  
  
He wept anyway.  
  
"Utaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" came a scream.  
  
Jack turned and saw most of the village approaching. Sankra was leading the charge, hurtling toward him in a wild-eyed run. He didn't want her to see Uta. Jumping up, he met her halfway to the body and grabbed her wrists before she got too close.  
  
"No!" she shouted, struggling. "I want to see her! Uta!"  
  
"Sankra, no. Stop," he said. Tears were running down his face.  
  
She didn't stop. Instead she wrenched her hands free and beat her little fists against him, shouting angrily for her friend.  
  
"Please. Do not look. She is dead, Sankra!" Jack pleaded, wrestling with her. "She is dead. I am so sorry."  
  
Sankra stared at Jack, her honey-colored eyes wide and watery, and wiggled miserably in the warrior's grip. Finally, she just collapsed against Jack's chest and began to cry, murmuring Uta's name and gasping for air between sobs. She threw her arms around him and he held her tight.  
  
Horrified ghosts rushed past them to cover the body. Noise and chaos swept over the two. Screams. Shouted orders. Thousands of feet hurrying from the clearing. They clung to each other, the quiet eye of the hurricane, as the body was borne away, leading most of the spectators off with it.  
  
It began to snow.  
  
White flakes drifted down slowly, hanging on tree branches, dappling rocks, and making the world shimmer. The stars twinkled brightly. Sankra looked up at him, and they reflected themselves ten thousand times in her sad eyes. But as sad as she was, she nestled against him, warming him with her body and willing his spirit to calm down.  
  
Everything around them was quiet and still. Jack felt a drowsy heat creeping through him. His heart was no longer a wildly clanging hammer, but a muffled leather drum. He listened as Sankra snuffled against him. Despite the magic she was working, she was terrified and adrift. Alone in the world as he was.  
  
Uta had gone home.  
  
END PART EIGHT.  
  
***  
  
There is an epilogue. Please "stay tuned." ;) 


	9. Epilogue: Standing in the Road

As usual, thanks to everyone who reviewed this. Here 'tis: the end.  
  
***  
  
EPILOGUE: Standing in the Road  
  
***  
  
There wasn't even time to contemplate how Uta had ended up in the arena. And later, when Jack had brought an exhausted Sankra back to her hut and left her in her bed, there were no answers. Until midnight.  
  
Jack was squatting in Uta's hut, near her fire, lost in thought. He was rinsing the blood from his face and hair. A knock startled him. He toweled off his face and answered the door.  
  
The village idiot was standing there, holding something in her quaking hands. She twitched and blinked at him. Jack motioned her inside and shut the door behind them.  
  
"Ahhhngyu. Oo theh ahh," she said.  
  
Jack stared at her, perplexed. There was another knock.  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
He answered it and Sankra came in, with dark circles under her eyes. She was wringing her hands nervously.  
  
"Jack, I---" she began. Then she saw Kiki. "What's she doing here?"  
  
"I do not know. She said something, but I could not understand her."  
  
Sankra looked at Kiki, who repeated her statement.  
  
"Thank you. You saved us," Sankra translated.  
  
Jack smiled a little at Kiki. She, in turn, bowed as low as her twisted, broken body would allow and handed him something.  
  
"Ohh eeyoo," she said.  
  
It was a coin purse, made entirely of tiny, multi-colored beads, and thread. It had two pictures on it: An old woman on the front, holding herbs, and a young woman on the back, standing in a meadow. It was breathtaking.  
  
Jack also bowed low and accepted it. Kiki, excited that he liked it, started babbling again. Sankra translated.  
  
"I . . . have come here to . . . tell you that . . . I saw . . . who . . . pushed . . . Uta."  
  
Sankra paled and stared at Jack. "Someone PUSHED Uta into the arena?!"  
  
Jack was just as bewildered. "Who?" he asked Kiki.  
  
"Ahh-hee," she said.  
  
Jack had picked up her speech. "The Ashi?" he asked.  
  
Kiki nodded emphatically.  
  
The next day was a whirlwind of activity.  
  
The morning was empty and cold. For Jack it was dead time, punctuated only by the tinkling of crystal funeral bells. Mourners cried. The pungent smell of incense hung in the air. He watched the shadows on Sankra's straight back as she stood and chanted prayers in front of the funeral pyre. It flickered and popped, turning Uta's body to dust. Her low, powerful voice carried on the wind as she ululated to heaven. He stared at the way her hair fell between her shoulder blades.  
  
In the afternoon, Jack was working. He'd cleaned up the inside of Uta's hut, and now he was shoveling the show outside it. He stopped working to put one fist on his hip and laugh. A flock of terrified Crow Men were running away from the town, shrieking and squawking. A flock of angry women were pursuing them with yells, pitchforks, and torches. They wouldn't be back.  
  
And in the evening, he stood in the town square with the rest of the village. Kiki gave her "testimony." There were wide eyes and dropped jaws. Immediately, there was a loud, angry revolution. The Ashi was driven out of town in a cloud of whirling pink cloth and noise. She stumbled along on her fat legs, running for her life. The villagers were throwing things at her and shouting curses. Errol, the baker, was immediately elected the new Ashi.  
  
One look at Jack told Sankra that he would be leaving soon. She invited him to stay the night at her hut and leave in the morning. He accepted.  
  
The next morning at daybreak, he awoke to total silence. Sankra's fire had nearly gone out. He could see his breath. But he absently felt his new cotton underclothes, looked down at his socks, and smiled. He didn't have to worry about the cold.  
  
He looked over at Sankra, peacefully asleep on her cot. He knew he had to go. Saying goodbye to her was out of the question --- he'd never been good at that. Better to just disappear.  
  
He fastened his sword and pushed the door open. It creaked. He scrunched his eyes in annoyance.  
  
"Jack?" came Sankra's sleepy voice.  
  
Against his better judgment, he didn't bolt. Instead, he turned around, nervous. Sankra was blinking to clear the sleep from her eyes.  
  
"You're leaving?" she asked, getting out of bed.  
  
"I --- I am afraid I must go," he said.  
  
She nodded, then grabbed a small sack from where it hung on the wall. As she did, Jack noticed something around her neck. The pink bottle that had once hung between Uta's sagging breasts now hung between hers. Sankra saw his look.  
  
"It's Uta's essence," she explained. "I'll carry it with me always."  
  
"Ah."  
  
They walked out into the cool dawn and reached the road. A hundred paces off, it dipped below the horizon, down into a valley. The first rays of the sun were peeking out.  
  
"Here," she said, handing him a small bundle of food and a gray feather cloak she'd brought with her. "For your journey. The town of Urugor is down the road, to the east. If you leave now, you should be there by sunset."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He didn't know what else to say, so he tucked the parcel into his gi, fastened the cloak around his shoulders, and bowed low, preparing to leave.  
  
"Jack, wait."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I just wanted to tell you to be safe, and . . ." She sighed, forlorn. "This is so hard. You've given us our lives back. You've been my friend. I don't want you to go."  
  
Jack felt the same way. Bushido was momentarily forgotten. He moved forward, into her open arms. They embraced. But inertia conspired against them. He was looking down, she was looking up, and when their bodies touched, their lips kept going and collided in the middle.  
  
The kiss was brief. Both backed away with pink cheeks.  
  
Jack was the first to apologize, trying desperately to squash the blossoming feelings inside him. "I am so clumsy," he said. "Forgive me."  
  
Sankra grinned, batting her lashes. "I don't want to forgive you. I liked it."  
  
This was not the scared, drowning woman of a few days ago. This woman was strong and sure and loving. And she had more magic in her than she knew, because she'd gotten a stoic, exhausted warrior to smile at her. A lot. And here he was, doing it again.  
  
"But you have to go."  
  
His smile faded. "It is not my choice. My quest . . ."  
  
"I know." She took his hand. "Go and fight, and be well. But may I ask you something?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"When your quest is over, what will you do then?"  
  
Jack thought for a moment.  
  
"If I remain in this world, I will return to you," he said, his voice low.  
  
He gently squeezed her hand, then let go. Sankra hunkered down under her shawl and watched him walk away. Her long black hair blew lazily in the wind. She stood there until his figure became a silhouette against the rising sun. He was almost at the dip in the road.  
  
There was a sudden emptiness in her chest. Her mind and spirit were here, with her village, but this brave samurai had stolen her heart. She squinted into the blinding light, then smiled faintly.  
  
Jack was gone.  
  
***  
  
Wa-JACK!  
  
Back, back, back to the past, Samurai Jack . . . *Gonnnnnng*  
  
THE END.  
  
Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave a review if you haven't already.  
  
Take care,  
  
Kiki -[: ) (That's my happy Jack face.)  
  
PS: If you're interested in seeing a picture of Sankra, please go to the Samurai Jack CDF site, lovingly maintained by Greek Honeybee, and check under Fan Art. :D You should find her under "Kiki." 


End file.
